


Guilty Pleasures

by bushybeardedbear



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Gen, I don't know what you mean, That thing they're watching isn't anything else at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 01:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15014024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bushybeardedbear/pseuds/bushybeardedbear
Summary: Somewhere deep in the bowels of the Castle of Lions, a power drain has been detected. Lance, with nothing but his wits and some freshly baked cookies is sent to investigate...What the Quiznak is a Miwak...?





	Guilty Pleasures

**Guilty Pleasures**

With all the hyper advanced super tech aboard the Castle, it puzzled Lance to no end that the Alteans had not once thought to create vacuum robots. The un-vacuumed, stale and reeking Space Dust in this long and darkened corridor tickled at the nose and throat of the Paladin. The thought of what unseen muck was collecting on his otherwise perfectly maintained skin, caused the boy to shudder involuntarily as he imagined greasily oozing filth invading his every pore. Setting that fear aside, he was sure that vacuum robots should hardly be a great struggle for a species that was discovering the universe whilst humanity were still squabbling over caves. Maybe, Lance mused, they already _had_ created their robot sweepers? Following the inevitable robot uprising that the movies had always warned us about, the Alteans probably decided it was more trouble than it was worth when the machines demanded equal pay. Another stray piece of detritus clattered and slammed into the young man’s already pounded shins, interrupting his daydream. That was the fourth in as many awkward shuffles. Worse still, the distinct sound of something wet, dripping sloppily and steadily. Why had this part of the castle been left as a long line of junk piles? Sure, there didn’t seem to be much useful on this floor, just a whole host of empty rooms. Maybe they’d once served as barracks for a Garrison of Altean soldiers, or perhaps once a brig? Spaceships always had a brig, right? Now though they were empty except for the lengths of metal, coils of wire and tumbles of empty and full metal boxes alike strewn about the place.

“Why am I doing this?” Lance grumbled to himself, resisting the urge to kick at a dented black cylinder.

“Cookies…” Hunk’s amplified tone crackled over an earpiece, “…have been exchanged for goods and services. In this case, you got my first oatmeal raisin batch in return for tracking down what’s causing the power drain in that section of the castle. I keep meaning to get around to it, but as head chef, chief engineer and yellow paladin of Voltron, it seems my work is never done.”

“I don’t know that Pidge would agree to you being _Chief_ engineer. Head chef though? That's a given.” Lance chuckled, happily reminded of the parcel nestled in his jacket, a hefty share of still warm baked goods. “Do I want to know what creepy outer space ingredients you substituted for the _oats_ and _raisins_ in these cookies?”

“Actually, the raisins are surprisingly close to what you’d find on Earth.” Hunk reassured his friend, “I guess it’s more than just the _humanoid form_ that evolves all over the Universe. Grapes do as well. Weird, right?”

“Good news if you like wine I guess…” Lance shoved a large metal panel aside rather than risk his weight shifting the debris unpredictably. “Am I getting any closer to this power drain?”

“Next corridor on your left, three doors down on the right if this readout is correct. Now, as for the oats.” Hunk nervously laughed, “If I were to say they’re _holometabola xeroderma,_ that wouldn’t exactly mean very much to you would it? And if it does, don’t worry, all the ichor has been cleaned off.”

Lance shook his head, “You’re using words I don’t know deliberately. Probably for the best.”

Hunk breathed a sigh of relief, “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Just so long as it _tastes right,_ and it won’t kill me, then I don’t care.” Lance only _partially_ lied as he turned to his left. He was after all pretty sure he knew what _ichor_ was. A shift in the silence. The hair on his neck lifted. “I think I hear something.” Lance whispered over the earpiece, summoning, supporting and levelling his Bayard-Rifle with a well practised motion. Darting his eyes about with keen purpose, Lance gently stroked a steady finger to the trigger.

“Sounds like movement. Maybe voices,” Lance relayed to Hunk, “I may need some backup down here bud. You’re not picking up any life signs are you? I’d hate to walk in on a bunch of giant killer cockroaches with acid for blood.”

“They mostly come at night… _mostly_ …” Hunk responded, “Relax, Lance. Nothing to worry about down there.” Lance could have sworn he heard several voices laughing over the communicator only for them to be hushed by Hunk. He wasn’t sure if it was entirely imaginary or his combat-ready senses giving him an edge. “Now, you just. Take care of the power issue. I’ve got other stuff to do.” Hunk’s hisses and crackles wouldn’t fool anyone. Even if the technology had _not_ been far beyond such interference, radio static didn’t tend to _laugh_. The device fell silent.

Pursing his lips in frustration, Lance strongly suspected that behind door number three he’d only find the wild goose he had been unwittingly chasing. Despite that being the case, Lance realised that the noises he had been hearing were growing louder as he drew closer. His Bayard remained ready. There was a hastily placed sheet of what Lance assumed was scrap metal, though this particular piece of Altean scrap seemed almost iridescent and lustrous but for the coating of dust. The noises were far more distinct now. A single voice speaking in an oddly flowing series of syllables, each melding into the next. The language had a simultaneously hypnotic and yet prideful tone, but Lance couldn’t discern a single word from it. Just as he gave up on his fruitless analysis, the already lyrical language was accompanied by an irresistibly upbeat theme. From behind the sheet metal, a soft haze of multi-coloured light began to flicker seemingly at random through the spectrum. A second voice, softer, sweeter and oddly familiar echoed the lyrics. Whatever the heck was going on, Lance needed to investigate.

Gently pushing aside the panel with his rifle, Lance stepped softly, cautiously into the room. It was small, just as all the others in the corridor had been. It was covered in junk, just as all the other rooms had been. That was where the similarities ended however. Set against the back wall was a screen, connected to cobbled-together clusters of tech. Coils of thick tangled wire weaved through the Castle systems, through floor and ceiling, back into makeshift devices and into the screen again. Set close enough to the screen that an overprotective mother would warn of square eyes, was what Lance supposed approximated a couch. The junk-crafted seating was made from spools of tightly wound wires, a dried liquid that Lance _hoped_ was simply glue and a few bent and welded lengths of metal. Draped over this skeleton, a collection of long discarded mattresses that must once have been in the other rooms. They were at least covered by a draping of much cleaner looking fabric that may have once been bedsheets. There was an undercurrent of mustiness to the room, drowned out by other more pleasant scents, some edible, others delicious.

Moving silently closer, Lance spied a huge stash of snack food, all within easy reach. Some he recognised, some he had assumed he _misplaced_ and others he wondered when and how they had been smuggled aboard without his knowledge. Worse still, without _any offer to share them_. The screen continued to play what to Lance was simply a rapid series of unconnected images of an alien city, people with bright blue skin leaping about it with abandon in even brighter coloured costumes. Nestled among the snack food and singing along with the musical opening was the obvious architect of this sanctuary. Lance had never heard her sing before. Even with words he could only discern as nonsense, he was glad to have had the chance to hear it. There was no danger here, only a compelling little mystery and she was singing along to something quite odd. As the title card of what Lance could now tell was a show appeared on screen, he dismissed his Bayard. That very slight sound was enough to alert the occupant. Turning to him in a hurried flash of movement, her glasses glinting in the rosy pink glow of the screen. As Lance scratched his head, both apologetically and in genuine confusion at the strange black, white and red runes on the screen, a vibrant blush visible plainly even in the gloom shot to the girl’s features.

“Quiznak!” Pidge’s cry was hardly the friendly greeting Lance had hoped for. “Quiznaking quiznak.” She continued to mumble, hurriedly reaching for a small device at her side. It slipped from her grasp, tumbled to the junk-riddled floor. She dived after it, stabbing her thumb into a single button and pausing at the title screen. She smiled nervously up to Lance from her new position on the floor. She attempted to look casual and failed.

Lance returned the smile, leaning against the home made sofa, “So.” His smile turned to a smirk, “It really _was_ a gremlin causing the power drain. I thought they were just legends.”

Pidge scowled, plopping herself back to the sofa and defensively folding her arms about her chest. “Charming. First an intrusion, then you _insult_ me.”

“Hey now!” Lance protested, “I mean it in the nicest _possible_ way. You’re practically _born_ to mess with tech and you’re always hiding yourself away. Seems a little like a gremlin to me. And I wouldn’t be _intruding_ if Hunk hadn’t sent me to find out about a weird power drain.” He turned his attention to the screen and helped himself to a handful of Hunk’s approximation of popcorn. The snack had a somewhat fizzy texture, tasted pleasantly sweet yet umami and was coloured like lilacs. Other than that, it was pretty much popcorn. “So, what’s all this you’ve been hiding away?”

“Just been…” Pidge visibly squirmed, “Monitoring communications?” It wasn’t _completely_ untrue.

“Riiiight.” Lance wasn’t buying it for a second, “Most communications come with their own theme tune these days?” What could easily have been a smirk was instead a kind smile, “You know you’re _actually_ not a bad singer, Pidge.”

“Quiznak.” Pidge grunted, “You will tell _no one_ that I was singing.”

“Our little secret.” Lance shrugged, “But I think our little pigeon needs to be more of a song bird.”

“You can knock that off too.” Her eyes narrowed.

“What’s the show?” Lance’s blunt question catching Pidge slightly off guard, “You acted like I caught you in the middle of a _crime_ or something.” He chuckled evilly to himself, “Is this like… _Space Por -_?”

Pidge cut him off quickly, “Firstly, _trust you_ to go _there_ first. Secondly, No. _No it is not._ Thirdly, even if it _was…that_ … Which would be _perfectly_ fine! Do you really think I’d not _at least_ find a place with a _lock_ …?” She huffed, trying to hide her growing embarrassment at the topic. “Actually, I’d really prefer that you don’t think about it. Just don’t _think about it at all!_ ”

“Well, ok. But you _know_ what everyone does when you tell them, _don’t look down…_?” Lance teased. “So what _is it_ _?_ And why can you only watch it hidden down here?”

She shook her head, “Nope. Not telling you a damn thing. This has already gone from invasion of privacy, to insult, to embarrassment and then to a _really_ awkward topic. So, maybe I’ll shut this all down? I’ll find somewhere else to install it. Somewhere that _you’re_ not going to be able to track down.”

Lance produced a warm parcel from his jacket. The intoxicating smell instantly filled the room as he unwrapped the brown baking paper, revealing a cascading pile of cookies. “I guess I’ll just take these with me then?” Lance shrugged, “Or, if you let me stay a while, I’ll be persuaded to share. Your choice.”

Pidge glared between the boy and the cookies, “Fine.” She shoved some other snack food unceremoniously aside, then brushed away a motley collection of crumbs beneath them. “But just keep in mind that I’m _only_ doing this because oatmeal and raisin are my second favourite kind of cookie.”

“Really?” Lance smiled, hurdling over the sofa and shuffling himself alongside her. Lance would have to either thank or punch Hunk later. “Guess Hunk still hasn’t been able to get hold of peanuts.”

Pidge sighed deeply, grasping at her remote. “Now, keep in mind that I don’t speak this language. But you can pick up what’s going on pretty easily. Well, _I_ can, I guess we’ll see with you.” She grabbed for the largest cookie she could find, nervously and tentatively nibbling at its edges. Shakily, she pressed play.

As the title screen faded, the scene shifted to a group of blue skinned adolescents with a bewildering array of hair styles, dress senses and body types. They were talking in a courtyard, a great deal of focus placed upon a nervously chattering female whose exceptionally expressive face and darting pink eyes were framed with short golden-blonde hair. Aside from the skin tone and their twin forehead antennae – though Lance would still insist for some bizarre reason on calling them _deely-boppers_ – they could have easily passed for human. Seemingly without warning, a new character appeared, a male of the species, bathed in glowing light, striding in slow motion, long blue-black hair resting at his shoulders. The newcomer resting unnaturally sparkling emerald eyes upon the lead female. The lead female was now stammering uncontrollably as her face turned a shade shy of blueberry.

Lance raised a quizzical eyebrow, “Is this like, an animated high school drama?”

Pidge paused the show, then paused before making her response, “In parts?” She ventured cautiously, “All you need to know right now is that the boy with the black hair is _Tsar’ege_ and the girl with blonde hair is...” She fell silent, hoping that this wouldn’t sound the way it did in her head. With a sigh, she said, “ _Pidge’nanchu_ …”

“Zarr-eggy and _Pidge._ ” Lance smirked, “Got it.”

“The main character’s similar phonetic structure to my nickname is how I _found_ the show, ok?” Pidge grunted as she tore into her cookie, “It’s a weird coincidence, that’s all!”

“Sure thing, Pidge.” Lance noticed that the scene had paused on the black-haired alien and smiled devilishly, “So, based on that slow-mo’ walk in. _That_ Pidge has a big crush on Zarr-Eggy _too_ _?_ ”

“ _Tsar’ege…_ ” Pidge corrected, though in truth it was only with somewhat minor changes in inflection, “And yes, _Nanchu_ – because they usually call her by that nickname – is utterly _besotted_ with him. Also, I resent the implication that I’m crushing on a cartoon character.”

“Besotted, huh?” Lance nodded, “I’m going to have to work that into a pick-up line somehow. Something with a lot of the letter B in it. And you can crush on whoever you like, Ms. Holt. No judgement here.”

The urge to wipe the smug grin off his face was almost more than she could stand. She let the episode play again. The class bully, a girl with a malicious grin and a singular taste in purple clothing to match her hair, was throwing herself at Tsar’ege, much to the chagrin of Nanchu.

“I’ve got it!” Lance chimed in, “Hey babe, you just _be you._ I’ll, _be-sotted._ Does that work?”

“Awful. Both linguistically and romantically, that one is a _dud._ ” Pidge scoffed, “Not that I’m trying to _help you_ pick other girls up, but you’d probably lose most women at the word _babe._ ”

Lance shook his head, “Babes _love_ being called babe.” He added teasingly, “… _babe…_ ”

“Sure. And I bet you’d be happy to be called _Little Man,_ right? Same deal. It’s demeaning.”

“If I’m _little_ then you must either be a member of the lollipop guild or you come from _Endor._ Shaved maybe, but still an Ewok.” Lance shrugged, “Fine. Point taken. No babe. What about _baby_ _?_ Or _baby-cakes_ _?_ What about _hot stuff_ _?_ ”

Pidge just rolled her eyes, returning her focus to the show. A montage of cutting, shaping, laser drilling, sonic screw driving and otherwise hand-crafting was going on now. The classmates were all preparing for some kind of special event being held in the school. Judging by the sequence of suddenly hand drawn images to represent a daydream, Nanchu was already concocting a convoluted plan to use the event to confess her love to Tsar’ege.

“So far...” Lance mumbled softly with more than a hint of amusement, “This whole show is about a _painfully_ shy girl trying to tell a cute boy that she _liiiikes_ him. This may just be the most _girly -_ ” Pidge shot him a withering look, “Ok, _fine._ _Stereotypically feminine_ thing I’ve ever seen you interested in. There’s just so much _pink._ When do the horses with butt-tattoos show up?”

“That _love_ dynamic is only _part of it._ ” Pidge protested, “Just keep watching.”

The attention shifted to a sour looking older man, long grey hair and beard concealing his face, eyes struggling to focus through thick glasses. Shuffling slowly about he swept dust from the floor of the school corridors with what could have easily been a broom right from Earth. The same purple clad girl from earlier in the episode hurled a bag of waste from the hand-crafting montage right into the path of the janitor with a smug grin. The janitor visibly fumed as he complained at length, clearing up the mess with a low pitched growl.

“Man. That girl's a total witch!” Lance mumbled through cookie crumbs.

“Sure, but they give her a lot of good reasons for being that way.” Pidge explained, “Absent mother, uncaring father too busy with his political career. I'd put good money on her being another one of the heroes later.”

“ _Heroes?_ ” Lance's softly intoned query fell on deaf ears as the scene suddenly shifted to a darkened domed room, “Where the heck are we now and who's this clown?” The focus shifted to a cackling villain, garbed in a fine golden and white suit. All but her narrow and cold grey eyes were hidden behind a skin tight golden mask that reminded Lance of a luchadore. Following the outline of her gaunt face, the mask depicted an oddly proportioned insect in a single white line.

“That’s _Llanopip,_ my best guess is she’s based on some weird insect that’s somewhere between a queen bee and butterfly.” She gestured to the screen, “See those little glowing white things? Not quite a wasp but with _huge_ wings? I think they're like her drones or soldiers, she uses them to do her dirty work.” On screen, with a flourish of a sceptre, Llanopip weaves a dark energy about one of the glowing insects. Newly darkened in hue, it flies from a vertical hole in the dome, sliding open to allow it to escape. It hovers and flaps over the alien city, before settling upon the irate janitor.

Lance watches in confusion as the scene rapidly swaps between Llanopip – whom Lance has decided to himself will now be called _Butterfreak_ – and the janitor. Whatever they're talking about, the janitor is clearly getting angrier. Suddenly, from beneath his drooping moustache, the janitor grins maliciously. He is soon wrapped in a cocoon formed of bright golden light, bursting forth again utterly changed. Where once there was a grey boiler suit, now flowing white robes. His flesh was gone, replaced with an intricate skeleton that as well as being charcoal black, was so complex that it would make a human skeleton look like a child's jigsaw puzzle. His eyes glowed a furious blue as he wielded a savage looking black broom. Until now, Lance wasn't even aware a broom could look so intimidating.

“Well, I guess he's the freak of the week.” Pidge explained, “Llanopip imprisons people within a chrysalis of their own negativity and then gives them super powers.” She paused thoughtfully as the rampaging former janitor smashed into a classroom. With a chilling laugh and a swipe of his bleak sinister broom, the bully in purple was reduced to a pile of dust. “I think I'll call this guy the Grim Sweeper.” Pidge said, watching without concern as more children were turned to piles of grey-white dust.

“Did... D-Did he just _kill_ those kids?” Lance struggled to process the information as the so-called Grim Sweeper's murderous rampage continued unopposed. Children, adults, an unfortunate creature that looked a lot like a part rat part spider, all of them reduced to dust in the wind. “Holy _quiznak_ this got dark fast. Why aren't you more freaked out by this?”

Pidge chuckled softly around a mouthful of cookie, “Just another week for this show.”

“So.” Lance frowned, “ _Why_ is Butterfreak turning people into super powered kid killers?”

“To steal a set of earrings and a ring.” Pidge shrugged.

“You're kidding...right...?”

Taking refuge in a room full of lockers, Nanchu clutches desperately to a small purse. She checks her surroundings, making certain she is alone before finally opening the accessory. Within, a small red creature no larger than a human fist and with the proportions of a newborn gazes up to her with curious and worried green eyes. Furrowing it's brow, the black-spotted being seems defiant.

Lance recoiled at the odd looking creature, “What _is_ that thing!? It’s _too cute to look at!!_ ”  
  
Pidge paused the show, she also refused to let Lance see that his wild flailing and unnecessarily exaggerated response had made her smile, “That’s a _Miwak_. They’re a kind of spirit that I'm _pretty sure_ are directly responsible for a fundamental aspect of the universe. In this case, _Kit'ki,_ Miwak of Creation.”

“So wait. You're saying Nachu's like, got a literal _god_ in her purse!?” Lance stared at the frozen image of Kit'ki. “And Butterfreak wants some jewellery!? Why isn't Butterfreak going after the purse god!?”

“I guess you could call her a purse god, or goddess.” Pidge confirmed, “Though, the Miwak can only directly intervene using human partners, bonding with the human using a set of magical artefacts.”

“The _jewellery_.” Lance nodded, “Ok, _now_ it makes sense. Butterfreak needs the jewellery to control the purse god.”

“Pretty much.” Pidge let the episode play, a sequence she was by now very familiar with began to roll. Nanchu's earrings glowing as Kitki's essence is drawn into them, a smile upon both their faces, Nanchu's body wrapped in glowing energy as she changed. Standing in a pose ready to kick ass, Nanchu had become a costumed crime fighter in a skin tight red outfit with black spots. A domino mask barely hides her face and emphasises her eyes, like the rest of her outfit it is red and black spotted.

“Huh.” Lance watched the sequence, idly chewing upon more popcorn, “I guess it's, Morphin' Time?”

Before Pidge had the chance to seize upon his reference, she rolled her eyes at his next comment instead.

“Is it weird that she looks _kinda hot_ in the costume?” Lance asked concernedly, “How old are they supposed to be?”

Pidge sighed, “She's probably as old as I am.”

Lance breathed a sigh of relief, “Well, that's ok then.”

“Also a _cartoon_.” Pidge prodded him defiantly. Though, she'd sometimes wondered if Lance cared if girls were a little younger than him. Say by about 2 years. Guess she had her answer. Shaking her head, she pushed that errant thought aside.

Lance shrugged, “Ouch. Judgy much?” He let out a short whoop of excitement as the newly transformed Nanchu smacked the Grim Sweeper upside his skeletal head with a well placed kick, sending the creature tumbling into an empty classroom. “So _this_ is what the show's really about!” He said with a smile as Nanchu dodged a torrent of dark energy from the Grim Sweeper's broom, taking cover behind a row of desks. “So, what's her deal now?”

“Nanchu’s secret identity, her super heroine form, it's the _Dybalgu._ Pretty sure it's some kind of black and red-shelled beetle from this planet.” Pidge's teeth wrestled with a cookie. “Not sure why it's associated with creation though...”  
  
“Are all red-shelled beetles good with magic yo-yos?” He winced as the item in question smashed hard into the Grim Sweeper, knocking him to the floor in an angry pile of black bones, “I guess it’s magic anyway.”  
  
“I always thought it was supposed to be closer to a meteor hammer.” Pidge responded, “But yeah, it’s _crazy magical._ ”  
  
“I think I'll call her, Insect-girl.” Lance smiled, “Nice and easy.”  
  
“You _really_ can’t think of a better name for a super heroine, a _lady_ based on a red and black shelled _bug_?” Pidge searched the boy’s expression in vain, being met with only a shrug, “Fine. _Insect_ _-Girl_ it is.”

Insect-Girl's Meteor Hammer and/or Yo-Yo encircles the Grim Sweeper, the ferocious creature growling with contempt as he is entangled in the cord of glowing energy. The scene shifts suddenly to an enraged Butterfreak, barking commands. With a sudden thrust of his diabolical broom, the Sweeper propels himself upward and readies an overhead strike, charged with dark energy. With a flourish, the sweeper opens fire, a flash of movement, the Sweeper's confused expression at the empty room before him. A shot of an open window where a new figure perches.

“And here's Arintoch, right on cue.” Lance caught the small hidden smile on Pidge's face and the sudden pep in her tone, even as she hid both behind a fistful of popcorn.  
  
“Ah, it's Eggy I see.” Lance nodded in approval. He wasn't too proud to admit a handsome cartoon young man was handsome. He was already pretty sure that the Eggy guy was part of what kept Pidge coming back. Seeing him dressed in the almost skintight black outfit hardly hiding a wiry yet subtly muscular physique, Lance could see why. Sharp almost ethereally blue eyes set in a canine looking domino mask hiding his features, the whole thing finished off with a pair of wolfish ears and a gunmetal silver quarterstaff. The newcomer smiled cheekily and winked at Insect-Girl with a polite bow as he dismounted the window frame.

“Right, _obviously_ it’s Tsar’ege. Though in this identity he’s called _Arintoch_.”  
  
“Looks a little like a black wolf, except for the blue skin.” Lance responded, “I do kinda like the way the mask makes his deely boppers bend back like a dog's face.”  
  
“Or maybe a fox?” Pidge suggested. “Certainly this planet’s equivalent of a canine of some kind. Also, you _really_ need to stop referring to antennae as deely boppers. Don't you remember the time you nearly caused a diplomatic incident doing that? What was it you said to the ambassador? Sweet _deely boppers_ madame ambassador? That would have been idiotic even _if_ deely boppers hadn't meant _mammary glands_ in their language.”  
  
“ _Nearly._ ” Lance complained, “I think I cleaned up my own mess pretty well.”

“If by _well_ you mean you didn't start a war, sure.”

“Danger-Dog.” Lance decided, deflecting the criticism,, “No, _no!_ On second thought, that sounds super lame...”  
  
“I’ve been calling him _Shadow Hound._ ” Pidge shrugged, “Seemed pretty cool to me.”  
  
Lance agreed with an affirmative hum. “He's cute, right?” He asked casually.

“Kinda is.” Pidge caught herself letting that slip, “Hey! I'm not watching this for _that_ at all!”  
  
“Hey, like I said. No judgement. Cute alien teen in a skintight catsuit.” He paused, “Ok, well, _dog_ suit. You're only human.”

“You're missing the _fight._ ” Pidge grumbled. Focusing on Shadow Hound's swift staff-fu working in tandem with Insect-Girl's meteor hammer, the two dancing a ballet of exquisite violence. The Grim Sweeper is overwhelmed, forced to leap from the window of the classroom, already causing chaos in the streets beneath. Random pedestrians, brightly coloured pseudo-pigeons with considerably more scales than feathers and even some vehicles being turned to piles of dust.

“Why are they pausing to _flirt_ while he's _killing people!?_ ” Lance waved his hands and extended his arms at the screen in the universal sign of _ah c'mon_!! Insect-Girl and Shadow Hound responded with shared smouldering gazes. Insect-Girl, clearly happy with the attention yet keen to play coy, lightly shoves Shadow Hound before the two take to the rooftops. She swinging on her meteor hammer as though web-slinging, he vaulting with his extending staff as though the monkey king. “ _Several people died while you two were making kissy faces!!_ ” Lance protested. “At least _make out_ if you're going to ignore the skull dude!!”  
  
Pidge disguised her soft giggle as Lance huffily sat back, grasping at a handful of cookies.

“You ever see _Iron Man_ stopping to flirt with someone mid fight!?” Lance paused, “Ok, _bad example!_ ” he furrowed his brow as the Grim Sweeper hovered high above the streets of the city, perching himself upon a vast cylindrical construction of bisecting metal beams, spiralling beautifully into a shimmering silver conch shell.

Striking the tower with his broom, the metal of the structure began to pulse with a deadly light, the sky growing darker. The echoing laughter of the Grim Sweeper echoes over the city. Cutting suddenly to a shot of Butterfreak, the malevolent antagonist raises her sceptre. The Sweeper raises his broom. Across a diagonal lightning bolt cut, the two struggle and strain, dark energies scything between them until, as quickly as it began, Butterfreak falls to the floor of her lair. Unable to be contained, the Grim Sweeper focuses all his power into the tower.

“Huh.” Pidge nodded, “Never seen a freak of the week do that before. Guess the control _isn't_ absolute.”

“So.” Lance whispered, “What's going on now? He charging up a super broom attack with that weird metal shell thing?”

“Pretty much.” Pidge nodded, “Llanopip - ” She stopped herself, “ _Butterfreak_ was trying to prevent the Grim Sweeper from killing everyone in Lem-Auriel'il-lév. Which of course, includes Butterfreak herself and her son, Tsar'ege.”

“Wait a tick.” Lance grabbed the remote and paused, “Tsar'ege is Butterfreak's _son!?_ How the heck does she not know her son's a crime fighting dog person!? How does _Tsar_ not know his _Mom_ keeps evil magic butterfly-wasps in the attic!?”

“How did Keith not know his Mom was an alien?” Pidge shrugged, “Because super hero logic? Because plot?”

Lance sighed in defeat, “Fair. Ok, but what was that thing you just said, Lemon-Oral... _something_?”

“That's the name of the city this is set in.” Pidge explained, “Lem-Auriel'il-lév. Near as I can tell, it _roughly_ means something like, _the city of light and..._ ” She paused, “Light and _love..._ ”  
  
“So, it's a city of love, that's got a big metal tower in the middle. Is this like, _Space Paris?_ ”  
  
“There are _some_ parallels, but if you look a little closer - ”  
  
“You wanna visit Space Paris with me, Pidge?” He smirked, “Could be cool, right?”  
  
“I'm not even sure if the place is fictional.” Pidge dodged the question. “Could be like asking me to visit _Gotham City._ ”  
  
“Well in that case, how about we go to _Earth_ Paris someday?” Lance offered, “Just...” He trailed off to a whisper, “... _you and me maybe_...?” He wasn't sure what surprised him more; The fact he had asked that at all, or how much it sounded like _the best idea he'd ever had_. Something about him and Pidge walking together through the city just seemed oddly right. He imagined her smiling in the sunlight, almost _skipping_ as he chased after her smile. He saw them sitting together in one of the stereotypical coffee shops, sharing some delicate dessert. Watching the sunset from the tower, caught breathless in the gaze of caramel coloured eyes and drawing closer to one another... The show was getting to him. That's what he told himself at least.  
  
“How about...” Pidge objected, having not heard his almost silent plea, “You just keep watching?” She grabbed and with her thumb stabbed the remote, setting the action back into motion.  
  
Struggling against howling winds, Bug-Girl and Shadow Hound claw and force their way to the centre of the maelstrom, the tower seems so distant and hope seems lost as the energy grows fiercer around the structure. With a look of horror, Insect-Girl imagines the terrible future mere seconds away. Lem-Auriel'il-lév, bathed in waves of the Grim Sweeper's energy, friends and families, children and parents all turned to dust the moment it strikes them. She imagines the face of Tsar'ege frozen in fear before the energy wave. She looks to Shadow Hound and for a moment sees that same terrible fate befall him. With a grim frown of determination she hurls her meteor hammer high. Something else slams down in it's place. Something huge, metallic, and oddly familiar even with it's red and black spotted coating.  
  
“Why is there a cannon now?” Lance was getting very confused, “Why has it gone black and white...? And _first person_?” Shadow Hound flashes red against the black and white footage. The Cannon flashes the same way. Shadow Hound's hand flashes the same as well. “Pidge, what the _quiznak_ is happening right now?!”  
  
“She's going to fire Shadow Hound at the tower.” Pidge explained, “He'll use his absolute entropy hand thingy.”

“As _if..._ ” Lance sighs as he watches Shadow Hound clambering into the cannon. He smirks and winks, presumably asking for a kiss for good luck, only to have his face shoved deeper into the cannon.

“You were saying?” Pidge smirks in victory. “These are usually a little more involved, but, when life hands you a cannon.”

Hurled toward the tower with a mighty blast, Shadow Hound holds a claw-like hand outward, wrapped in shifting shadow and darkness. The Grim Sweeper looks toward the speedy form of the black clad teen, crying out a howl of rage that across all possible languages could only possibly be an elongated _noooo_!! Shadow Hound's hand grasps the tower, the silver metal grows instantly mottled, pitted, rusted and finally disintegrates into disparate matter.

“Did they just destroy a national landmark to take down one guy...?” Lance grumbled.

“It happens more often than you'd think.”

The Grim Sweeper tumbles, rushes toward Shadow Hound enraged but has no chance to react to the real attack. With the winds gone, Insect-Girl has closed the gap. With a powerful leap, his broom is in hand, pulled free, brought across the knee and in an instant, snapped. Grim Sweeper, racked with pain, falls upon the floor heavily, his robes and bones fading away. From the dissolving remains of his broom, a part-wasp-part-butterfly rises. Insect-Girl swings her Meteor-Hammer-Yo-Yo, a white light enveloping the creature before it once more flies away fully purified, darkness stripped from it's body. Insect-Girl waves it away.

“Why doesn't Shadow Hound just hit every bad guy with his _destroy everything hand!?_ ”

“Sometimes he does. Wouldn't make a very interesting story if that was _all he ever did_ , now would it?” Pidge verbally shrugged, watching as the city was restored in a shower of red and black beetles. From piles of dust return fully formed beings, the tower at the centre of the town stands proud once again. The Grim Sweeper, now a confused looking elder alien once more, looks about, scratching his head. Shadow-Hound and Insect-Girl share a fist bump, and a warm smile. The scene fades once more to Butterfreak, grumbling in the darkness of her lair.

“And that...” Pidge explained, “Is why I wasn't concerned about all the deaths.”

“Because the magic yo-yo reverses time?”

“The magical _meteor hammer_ a weapon filled with the power of a _goddess of creation_ recreates what was destroyed.”

“So...where are the...” Lance struggled for the term, “The stakes. Yeah, where are the stakes? If everything can get undone at the end of every episode, is there any threat, any reason to keep watching?”

“You're looking at them.” The scene had shifted back to the school, the alien teens dancing to some oddly upbeat tune that vaguely reminded Lance of the opening theme. Nanchu and Tsar'ege look shyly to one another dancing excitedly if not rather terribly along with the beat, “The real story is mostly about these two. There's a sub-plot going on about magical relics from the dawn of the universe, a wife in mourning for her lost husband _desperate_ to find or resurrect her lost love and the slow awakening of super powered beings in an otherwise mundane world.” Pidge nibbled at a cookie, “But the real story is these two in love.”

“I dunno, that sub-plot sounds pretty cool too.” Lance admitted, chuckling at the cleaner doing something almost close to breakdancing and capoeira. One limb astray, a table knocked, the school bully getting splashed with a torrent of punch and storming away in a frustrated huff. The music slows. Nanchu and Tsar'ege look shyly to one another. Behind each, a separate set of friends shove the two into each other's arms. After a moment's hesitation, a flash of blueberry blushing. they start to dance. Draw closer, as the world fades to pink and sparkly background, closer and their antennae brush gently against each other. Lance meanwhile smirks at the obvious widening of Pidge's eyes, the energetic pumping of her fists.

“Don't fake us out! Don't fake us out!” Pidge demanded. The focus shifted to the food table, a little black shape. She sighed heavily, “It's a fake out. Of _course_ it's a damn fake out...”  
  
“There there.” Lance patted her on the head, surprised she didn't snap at his fingers, “That thing some kind of rat?”  
  
“That’s Tsar’ege’s Miwak, _G’palg._ He embodies destruction.”

“He about to destroy a romantic moment?”

Pidge nodded, “Yup.” G'palg, tiny, black and with piercing ice-blue eyes. His large ears dart about, his tiny canine nose twitches. There upon a stick, thin and slender pointed stick, a chunk of some strange white-grey fruit. Above the fruit a chunk of something that made the little Miwak's eyes fill with unbridled joy. “Cheese...” Pidge sighed.

With a single gulp, G'palg demolishes a lump of the cheese, chews for a moment. His smile fades and turns to disgust. He spits the cheese, a tiny bullet of pre-chewed doom falls upon the floor. Nanchu places her foot daintily upon it and the result is inevitable. Falling to the floor in a wailing flail, Nanchu is reduced to a pile of limbs, her chin squashed to the floor. Though, the universe clearly doesn't hate her too much. Tsar'ege helps her to her feet, the young man smiling kindly and warmly as he takes her hands. The episode ends with their blushing faces, before an instrumental version of the opening theme kicks in. The runic alphabet explains the seemingly vast numbers of people involved. A picture in picture image shows random clips from other episodes. Lance watches them intently.

“So?” Pidge asked cautiously, “Did you actually... _Enjoy_ it?”

“I mean, it's kinda silly in places, but yeah. Yeah, I did. There's just _one_ thing.” Lance's query was punctuated by crunching on a snack somewhere between honeycomb and tofu, “Based on the episode, and if I'm getting these clips right, then, Tsar is in love with Insect-Girl. Nanchu's in love with Tsar. Insect-Girl is only a _little_ interested in Shadow Hound but Shadow Hound likes Insect-Girl a lot. He also kinda likes Nanchu, but Nanchu's only _really_ interest in Tsar. Also, Insect-Girl kinda likes Tsar too? But neither of the two of them, _despite only wearing those tiny little masks and having the same haircuts_ know who the other is? Do I have that all about right?”

“Superhero costumes never made sense.” She replied, “Clark Kent takes off his glasses, boom, he's Superman.”

“Yeah, well you take off yours and _you're_ the Green Paladin of Voltron.” Lance nodded thoughtfully. “I _wondered_ why you did it. Someone wants to be Super-Girl, do they?”

“I'm happier _not_ being a Miss-Male of Superman, thanks. I don't need them to see and they get in the way of my helmet's visor.” Pidge explained, “It's got nothing to do with trying to feel like a super heroine.”

“Not even a little?” Lance smiled, “Cause it'd be cool. Another little secret I'll keep on your behalf?” He waited for a reply that didn't come, “Well, I _totally_ feel like a super hero in my armour. Bet I look like one too. I mean, we all _do_ kinda look like a team of super heroes, giant combining robot, colour coded costumes, the whole thing. Do you think the legends of Voltron somehow reached Earth and inspired Powe - ” He Paused, “That kinda cheesy hero show?”

“Did the legends of Voltron somehow inspire _Power Rangers?_ That what you're asking?” Pidge smirked, “I knew you were a big dork, but that's just something else.”

“Yeah, well _you knew what I was talking about_.” Lance laughed, “Bet you even know what the Japanese show's called.”

On the one hand, Pidge always liked to show off her knowledge, on the other, it would play right into his smug hands. The name _Super Sentai_ stayed locked in her head as she returned to the point, “Look, walking this whole thing back a little, yes, Arintoch and Dybalgu can't be recognised in domino masks. It's dumb, but that's just super hero logic 101. Also, probably some Miwak magic going on to keep the secret.” She shrugged, “And yes, you've described their crazy love dynamic. Messy, right?”

“That means that _two_ people have kinda made a _love square_?” Lance rubbed his chin in quiet contemplation before trying to draw out the square between two points and failing, “Two people. Four corners. Doesn't that like _break math_?”

Pidge laughed, “I hadn't thought of it like that, but I guess it kinda does. Now I have even _more_ reason to want to reach into the screen and smash their faces together.”

“Now kiiiiisssss!!!” Lance mimed the act of struggling to mash faces in each hand, prompting a giggle from both.

“It'd kinda be frustrating though right?” Lance began with what Pidge was surprised to see was almost a nervous laugh, “Being in their shoes I mean. To be completely and totally _crazy_ about such a close friend. But, they just don't seem to see you in the same way. It'd suck, right.” He looked away from her gaze, probably remembering Allura or some distant crush back on Earth, Pidge supposed as she caught the heat to his expression. “I can't imagine, girl like you, that you've ever had that problem.”

Pidge rolled her eyes, “Sure, Lance. I have absolutely no idea what that would be like. A _nerdy_ girl like me and you assume I have no clue about unrequited love? _Sure._ ” She sighed away her sarcastic tone, “I actually know _exactly_ how it feels to like someone who's _never_ going to like me the same way...”  
  
“Whoever they are, or whoever they were...” Lance assured her with a tender smile, a hand resting on her shoulder, “They're an idiot.” He stated firmly, “You are _awesome_ and they are a _totally_ dense moron.”

“Thanks, Lance.” Nodding, Pidge smiled. “Yeah _he_ is a bit of an idiot. He's lucky he's just so quiznaking cute really.”

Lance frowned, “So, this cute dumb guy you like. You need ol' Lance to give him a stern talking to? Set him straight about turning down a real life super hero? He back on Earth?” He scrutinised her expression, “Wait, he's _not_ is he? Now, I have the weirdest feeling it's not Hunk, you think he and Shay are too cute together. So is he...an alien? A robot...? An alien robot! Some kind of cute, but dumb, alien robot!” Lance gasped with his sudden realisation, grinning madly, “You're in love with a GONK Droid!”

Pidge giggled, “Sure, you got me, Lance. I'm head over heels in love with a fictional nuclear battery on legs.” She shoved him gently. “Though I can't deny they're both cute and useful. Not very warm to cuddle up to though. Unless the radiation shielding is screwed, then it's not going to be the good kind of warm.”

“Well, ok. So, maybe _not_ a robot if cuddles are a factor. That kinda surprises me.” He smirked, “The way you look at tech, I know there are guys who'd give anything for you to look at them that same way...” He added with a laugh, “It also surprises me to hear you using the word _cuddle._ ”

“That's just another thing that never leaves this room.” Pidge warned him.

“I get it, Vegas Rules apply here.” Lane confirmed, “Now, I'm _guessing_ your little crush still has to be an alien of some kind, because the humans out here are pretty thin on the ground. So an alien or at the very least someone not 100% human.” He groaned, “And based on your taste in blue alien boys, you like guys with long _black hair_? Oh come _on_ Pidge, it's not _Keith_ is it? Was it his skintight space ninja costume that did it? I mean, I do _kinda_ get that actually...”

“It's _not_ Keith, you idiot.” Pidge grunted, hiding a growing warmth on her cheeks. “Look, first of all I'm changing the subject, right now. Even if by some random chance you _did_ guess right I wouldn't say so, would I? Second, I want to watch some more. So, if you're thinking of staying and watching more _with_ me, then do you want to start at the beginning? We can binge watch the whole series. It'll take a few vargas though. Best part of the quintant actually.”

Lance deactivated his comm unit with a flick of a finger, placing the ear mounted unit in a jacket pocket. “Actually, I wasn't thinking of doing that. I am now though. Sounds like a few vargas well spent.” He returned her relieved smile, “And I'll drop the interrogation. Sorry. You can keep your secret crush a secret.”

“Well, make yourself comfortable then.” She shoved his arm, “By which I mean, make yourself comfortable _for me_ to lean on. Your elbow's been jabbing into my side since the Grim Sweeper showed up.”

Lance wrapped his arm about her shoulders. “This better?”

“It's... _acceptable_...” Pidge mumbled, shoving a fresh cookie into her mouth with a happy little hmmm and wriggling herself closer.

Waiting for the recording to skip back and ignoring the flashes of in-episode action, Lance asked, “So, no spoilers, but I'm _guessing_ they aren't going to hook up this season?”

“I honestly don't know.” Pidge admitted, placing her head to his shoulder, an arm snaking about his waist and resting on his lap. “But I get the feeling it's one of these shows that will mercilessly tease their audience with seasons of _will they won't they_. All the while we're just _screaming_ at these fictional characters to just _make out already_.”

“Well, least it's not one of those shows that hints that _everybody_ might be good with _everybody_.” Lance laid a hand into her soft hair, stroking without thought or care. “One of those shows that never has a definite answer for who gets with who. Or in the _really_ rare moments when they do, they do something _completely crazy_ that pleases nobody.” He huffed softly, “You know the things I mean right, lots of teasing, hinting, cute little moments? All you end up with are just billions and billions of fan theories with combined names. Know what I mean?”

“There was that one Superman show that got Kal'Lex trending. I could almost get behind that one, Luthor displacing his feelings as hatred was kinda compelling. It helped that the two actors weren't awful to look at.” Pidge replied, smiling at his gentle touch, “You remember the online _drama_ around that almost Optibee scene? It was _crazy._ ”

“Not half as crazy as the next film hinting at pre-war _Optitron_ or was it _Megamus_?” Lance smirked, “Though by that point, I think the writers were just trolling the angry so-called-fans for free publicity.”

“Worked for the Qui-Gon Jinn movie.” Pidge recalled, “What was it _called_ though? Yogon? Quida?”

“Pretty sure it was Goda.” Lance replied, “Hashtag _the Jedi code if only, forbid their love, did it not_.”  
  
They both laughed softly, resting just as softly against each other. The recording stopped reversing, the screen turned black. Lance nestled his head to hers. Pidge snuggled closer still.

“You know what's worst of all?” Lance sighed, “It's when for season after season, you can see that two characters are _perfect_ for each other. You watch their friendship grow, see all the little things they can be to each other. The little looks and touches and blushes. You've got their whole future mapped out, right down to how beautiful their kids would be. And the show just goes _nope!_ They end up with a couple of utter _randoms_ instead! Why do shows _do_ that!?”

Pidge smiled and laughed brightly at him, “I had no idea you'd get that invested. You can be _such_ a dork.”

“Yeah, I guess I can be.” He laughed off her gentle mockery, “Though, right back at you, Pidge. Guess that's why we _can_ get on so well. Y'know, when we're not arguing like an old married couple.” He smiled, “Say, what's this show even called?” Lance suddenly realised he was clueless about this most simple of pieces of information, “Surely you can read their alphabet.”

“Actually I can't read it. So, I'm not sure about the name.” Pidge admitted, appreciative that Lance had that much faith in her xenolingustics, “Though from the bits I picked up from the theme tune, it's _probably_ the same name as their relics. As far as I can tell it translates to something like remarkable, sensational, unparalleled, unprecedented, fantastic, fabulous or something in that general area.” She paused thoughtfully, “Something unexpected, yet totally awesome.”

Lance nodded, “Yeah.” He rested a gaze softly upon her, “I think I know _exactly_ what that's like.”  
  
“Ready then?” Pidge asked, “And are you as comfy as I am?”

“I am _very_ comfy.” Lance agreed, “Y'know, we _could_ do this more often, maybe? I'll even bring more cookies.”

“I'd like that, Lance.” Pidge hit play, “The _cookies_ I mean. You coming along would just have to be a hassle I'll learn to cope with. Maybe even learn to enjoy it. Eventually.” She began to softly hum along to the theme tune.

All Lance could do was smile. Sitting close, holding and held. Unexpected. Totally awesome. His heartbeat flutters. Her gentle song, her eyes alight. Her smile. If he could put it all into a single word, it might just have been; _miraculous_.

 


End file.
